Scores of strong men, powerless to help, watched hopelessly within a few yards of the two whose lives were being slowly but surely snuffed out.
The laborer, whose carelessness or ignorance had caused all the trouble, was now in the sand up to his mouth.

The agonized watchers could see him gradually sinking further.
"Keep up your nerve, friend!" called Tom, in cool encouragement.

"We'll soon have you out of that." Gripping the lariat with both bands, Tom gave a strong, sudden wrench and succeeded in drawing the imperiled man out of the sand a few inches.
Then the poor fellow began to settle again moaning piteously as he saw a hideous death staring him in the face.
Tom Reade's own face was deathly white from a realization of the other's peril.

Of his own danger the young chief engineer had not once stopped to think.
Harry Hazelton was again on his feet.

That much Foreman Payson had permitted, but strong-armed laborers stood on either side of the boy, and their detaining grips were on his arm.
Out yonder the doomed man saw the engulfing sand creeping up on a level with his eyes.